Cradle
by Annie Blythe
Summary: Future-shot. Companion piece to "When Words Fail." Sam and Andy, married life and beyond.


**Warning: These scenes have more fluff than your average cotton candy stand.**

**The story is set in the same universe as "When Words Fail," although you don't need to read that story to understand it. This takes place in the future.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. I will own up to a serious fixation with character plotlines.**

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><p>She was a vision.<p>

He wasn't an overly sentimental guy, but he silently thanked God for his job, for retraining and general physical fitness, because for a brief moment, he thought his knees were going to give out.

She was, in a word, breathtaking.

Despite years on the force, relying on his eyes to absorb detail with hawk-like precision, he couldn't tell you much. Not about the ornamentation, anyway. He didn't see the dress. He couldn't tell you what kind of flowers she was carrying. He saw the smile that lit up her face, the trust and love in her warm eyes. It was a smile and a look for him, him _alone._

After he shook Tommy McNally's hand, with a solemn promise to take care of his little girl, he slipped his hand into Andy's, squeezing her palm lightly. She read the mischief in his eyes before he winked roguishly.

As they turned toward the altar, he whispered words meant only for her.

"If you don't leave now, there's no going back."

She beamed, then raised one eyebrow saucily. "I don't want to go back."

And when he folded her into his arms, kissing her with all the vigor and passion that was appropriate in a church, he knew they would be moving forward. Together.

Forever.

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><p>Andy smiled.<p>

Tracing her lips, she recalled that first moment they shared, after publicly professing their love for one another. It was the first of many, many meetings between two eager sets of lips in married life.

Later that night, he had held her closely on the dance floor, swaying gently to the music. She found herself lost in the familiarity of his touch. With a magnetic pull that seemed to be directed by the cosmos, his hands sought her. And she willed them to find her, always.

When he carried her over the threshold of their new home, his arms and his gaze mimicked the motions of that first night they spent together. Overcome with the emotion of the day, she offered her own silent prayer. She was grateful, _so grateful_, that she let this wonderful, strong, kind, generous man into her life. He saw her – really saw her – stripped of her masks, façade, and walls. And he loved her for it.

He paused at the bedroom door, not willing to set her down just yet. Kissing softly down the column of her neck, he quietly murmured into her collarbone, "I love you."

His arms were full. Her heart was full.

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><p>The honeymoon was a bit of a joke, really.<p>

Sam and Andy's relationship had been governed by Murphy's Law from the beginning. It made sense that the weather got their memo, and true to form, it didn't just rain… It poured.

Torrential downpour, that is. For six straight days. There were no walks on the beach, lazy naps in the sun, or late-night swims. Instead, there were muddy puddles, leaky roofs, and loud claps of thunder.

But Sam couldn't find it in himself to complain. He knew Andy had been excited at the prospect of going to the beach with him, but they would have future vacations to enjoy the sun, sand, and surf. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy time with her.

Married life suited him, he thought cheerily. Besides, rain gave them the opportunity to explore more activities _indoors. _Speaking of which…

On their last day in the bungalow, the sun made a grand re-entrance. They savored the bright color of the sky and the warm, gentle breeze, as they sat on the porch swing of their rented house. She had her head rested on his shoulder, and he cradled her to his chest.

Sighing contentedly, Sam watched the sun disappear below the water.

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><p>Fourteen months later, he joined her on the bathroom floor as she emptied her stomach of its contents. Kneeling beside her, he held her hair and rubbed soothing circles on her lower back, until her body stopped heaving. For a few moments, they sat in silence while Andy rinsed her mouth and Sam continued to sweep his hand across her back tenderly.<p>

When she recovered enough to meet his eyes, he offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I know it hasn't been easy for you. I wish there was more I could do."

Andy fixed him with a mock-stern glare. "You've done enough, thank you." Catching the guilty look on his face, she continued softly. "It will all be worth it in a few more months."

Sam tugged her gently, bringing her close to his chest. She settled on his lap, and threaded their left hands together, gazing at the simple white-gold band that complemented her own ring.

"You know what?"

"No, but I bet you'll tell me."

"It's worth it now." She tipped her chin up, searching the laugh lines on his face and settling her gaze on his dark eyes. Rubbing her belly, she whispered again. "This little one is definitely worth it."

They sat together on the cramped tile floor, making no attempt to move as the sun settled into the horizon. The room gradually darkened, leaving them swathed in the dim light of the bathroom.

"Okay, mommy has got to move before her joints are permanently locked in this position." She stretched, sliding off Sam's lap. "And I have to say, I don't have strong regard for the sick bastard that misled all women into thinking this was just a "morning" occurrence. If I could contain my sickness to that time frame, at least then I could plan for it."

He laughed lightly. "You haven't changed, McNally. Still planning." He stood, offering his hands to tug her to her feet.

"What? I'm just saying, it was definitely a man who coined the phrase, _morning_ sickness. Ugh."

"I know. I apologize on behalf of my gender, wife."

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><p>It had been nearly two years since they were married. Three years since they started dating. Five years since she had tackled him, arrested him, and slipped first into his life, then into his heart.<p>

Not bad for a five-year plan, she silently quipped.

As she lay on the hospital bed, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of the scene before her. Nothing could diminish the blissful glow that swept through her body.

"She's perfect," Sam murmured softly.

Andy studied him for a moment, overwhelmed by the love in her heart. His hair was in disarray – no doubt from the number of times he had run his fingers through it – and he had been wearing the same clothes for 38 hours. His shoes would probably have to be replaced because of the amount of pacing he had done, and in their mad dash from the house, he had missed a button on his shirt. But none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things. His attention was focused solely on the tiny pink bundle in his arms.

"We make a pretty good team, McNally." Two years into their marriage, and he was still using her former surname, his tone playful and affectionate. He traced a finger down the baby's cheek, then dropped his hand to Andy, lightly squeezing her fingers. "And a pretty good baby," he teased, his eyes dancing.

She smiled, patting the bed lightly. "Come sit with me."

Gently lowering himself to the bed, he guided one arm behind her shoulders and dropped a quick kiss to her temple. "Good work tonight."

She laughed, the words from the UC Op at Vestibule echoing in her head. "I just stuck with it."

He grinned in return. "We've come a long way, huh?"

She nodded her head in assent. "A long way. But you've always been there when it matters."

She paused, silent for a minute as she reflected on the last five years.

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><p>She had always admired his gentle hands, his strong arms. They had taught her, protected her, guided her through her formative months as a rookie cop. But they went above and beyond the call of duty, time and time again.<p>

After he had escaped from Brennan's clutches, their lives were irrevocably altered. Actions had consequences, and their dual suspensions were no easy price. But Andy knew this relationship was worth the effort, worth more to her than any relationship she had ever known. Two people as different as Andy and Sam were bound to argue frequently, but in the end, both knew they would fight for their most important priority – their relationship. They would fight to stay together, fight to love each other more and more with each passing day.

That night she stood in the snow, speaking to Sam through the open window of his truck, she had thought about the gift of his hands, the manner by which he conveyed his love. And tonight, she reflected on all the ways his hands and arms had loved her since.

Their wedding day. Placing a ring on her finger before friends and family, as she placed one on his. That first dance, cradled in his embrace. Their wedding night. Carrying her to their bed, loving her in the most beautiful way. Their honeymoon. Wrapping her in his arms as they watched the sun set. The day she discovered they were pregnant. Hugging her more tightly than he had ever done, then hurriedly apologizing, afraid he had hurt the baby. All those mornings, afternoons, and evenings she had been sick. Folding her into his arms, whether she had yet to brush her teeth or not. But this –

_**This **_was a summation of all those moments.

There was nothing more beautiful, more precious, than nestling into her husband's side as he cradled their daughter gently. Today, those hands took on a new responsibility.

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><p>"Sam?"<p>

He looked up, his pinky hooked in his daughter's tiny fist.

"I love you."

The dimples reappeared for the hundredth time that night. "I don't know how I got so lucky. I get to call the two prettiest girls in the world _mine_. God, now I know why Oliver has been such a sap all these years."

She giggled, briefly shutting her eyes as joy coursed through her body. Snuggling into him, she reached for their daughter.

"Hey Andy? I love you, too."

As she drifted off, exhausted, he nuzzled her nose in a way that had always been intimately _theirs. _But today, that privilege was extended to someone else.

He leaned in, gently grazing his daughter's nose.

"And sweetie, Daddy loves _**you**_."

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><p><strong>These one-shots just keep begging to be written! I don't know how to stop.<strong>

**Thank you so much for reading! Please, if you can, take a moment to review – It means the world to an author!**


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